Isaac Nightingale My Fathers Arms

I'm in my father's arms
They hold me tight
And when the seasons change
They’re warm and kind
His hands persuading me
If i don’t feel brave
They cover me
To feel safe
They will catch me when i fall
They protect me as i go
Working on me through the day
Like the potter molds the clay
Molds the clay
I'm in my father's arms
They carry me
They lift me up above
So i can see
They always show me signs
If i go astray
And wait for my return
When i’m far away
They will catch me when i fall
They protect me as i go
Working on me through the day
Like the potter molds the clay
Molds the clay
Molds the clay